Glance of a Flower
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:C:. Canon Divergence, post S6. But one final look in Dean's eyes, and Castiel found a solution. In fact, he found it so quickly, his mouth knew what it was before his brain did. Before he could stop himself, the angel felt the words tumbling out of himself, tripping over his lips in an over-eager rush to their revelation. "…now, I will care for you and your brother." Slow build.


**Glance of a Flower**

_[Because in retrospect, it was just that simple, yet so very, very extraordinary.]_

* * *

Chapter 1

Forms of Exchange

* * *

There were several things that had happened since Castiel first began his plan that he had not counted on, and several things more that he was suddenly worried might make this effort sharply meaningless and with far more harmful side-effects than he had at first foreseen.

After all, no matter what anybody said or thought of him by this point, he truly hadn't…he really hadn't intended for John Winchester to kill himself.

He really hadn't. No, the intention was for John Winchester to understand that he shouldn't hunt the demon that had killed his wife. The _intention _was for him to take his boys far, far away and live a happy, guarded life where Castiel, strong and powerful now, could fight off the rages of both Heaven and Hell that would reach and claw for the two promised sons throughout the coming years—instead of raising them into the sorrow and pain of hunting that would damage them so mercilessly.

The intention was for Sam and Dean to finally know _peace. _To know the demons that only scoured the Earth powerless and mortal, like the rest of humanity did—the ones that stole and killed and could be brought down by simple law and justice—because wasn't that already enough? Wasn't that painful and scary enough on its own?

But Castiel should have noticed the strange look in John's eye that formed the instant he confided to the man that he was an angel. He should have realized that maybe John would see that as a way out—a way to escape these sudden responsibilities and pain and anger at what had happened to his wife—

—but Castiel, who had known death twice already and couldn't see how it was an "escape" at all, didn't.

Not until it was too late and he was left alone with a quarter-of-a-tank in a 1967 Chevy Impala, a dead man's wallet, a crying six-month-old, and a defiant four-year-old who continued to glare at him and demand he tell the child where his parents were while holding his younger brother close to his chest with two-week-old ash dust still stuck under his fingernails.

Castiel had a vague feeling that not even the 50,000 souls of Purgatory that he had within him could help with this situation.

* * *

Making sure his brothers and sisters of this time period didn't notice his presence in this year was easy, especially considering how empowered Castiel was. All it took was a couple of well-placed sigils on his own chest with special clauses that wouldn't interfere with his own angelic abilities, and his siblings would not even know he had time-travelled.

Trying to decide what to do now that John Winchester had abandoned them…wasn't.

After all, his first intention after discovering of John's death had been to simply fly the boys to a safe town—which, well, that wasn't quite true. Castiel's real first intention had been to try time-travelling yet again in order to start over and try a different tactic in convincing John Winchester to stay and care for his boys in safety—but after running through every different scenario in his head, Castiel came to the reluctant conclusion that it would be no use. His own interference would always, always lead to John's suicide—and even if he were to convince John not to, the man would eventually lead his boys into hunting.

Neither situation was desired. But one was what he would suppose could be called the…"lesser evil" in this situation.

All the same, however, when Dean looked up at him with his anxious and falsely-brave green eyes as soon as Castiel had reentered their motel room, and asked tiredly, hoarsely, "Where's Dad?" the angel didn't know what to do.

Castiel stood there, with all the power of Purgatory wrapped under a trenchcoat, and could do no more than utter one word that would, in no way, satisfy a four-year-old's curiosity and settle his fears.

(And oh, how he wished he could do so much _more…_)

"Gone."

And he wasn't prepared for the pain that entered Dean's eyes because even as a four-year-old, the child may not have completely understood death—but he knew it enough to be able to associate it with that notion of a never-return. And with his mother already "gone"—the _gone _gone, burned to ash like the grit under his nails that he was hesitant to completely wash away in case even a speck of it was her—he understood the type of "gone" Castiel meant—that Dad, too, like Mom, was…that kind of _gone. _

Dean set his jaw, lowering his stinging eyes. He cleared his throat once before forcing out, "Why?"

This wasn't a question Castiel wanted to answer. He had a feeling honesty would break Dean—break him far earlier than he should be broken—not that he should be broken at all—but as soon as he opened his mouth to respond, the child cut him off.

"Did _you _send him away?"

The idea left the angel reeling. He gaped for a split-second, before uttering, "_No_," so harshly and firmly that Dean was startled into meeting his gaze again, in time to watch the body of Jimmy Novak add, "I wouldn't."

A pause lingered—one in which Castiel was afraid Dean wouldn't believe him—but the boy eventually and hesitantly nodded, glancing away again. The angel relaxed, although anxiety still clung to his borrowed muscles once he saw the drops of silverlight fall from his cheeks. Torn on what to do—for no amount of power could equip him for this—Castiel could only stand there, hands at his sides, fisting themselves in indecision.

(He had been hoping he could _prevent _this kind of agony…that's what all of these souls were _for, _anyway.)

…_perhaps…perhaps I was wrong in my assumption this would be better—_

"…so what happens n-now?"

Looking up, Castiel was surprised to see the oldest Winchester's watery eyes gazing at him. From the way Dean was trying to ignore his own tears, the angel could only honor such a silent request by answering just as seriously back, also acting as if the child wasn't aware his entire world was crumbling around him.

"Now…" …well, now what, indeed? He hadn't been planning to be present at all for this part. He had been planning something so much different…so much easier, and so much better.

But one final look in Dean's eyes, and Castiel found a solution. In fact, he found it so quickly, his mouth knew what it was before his brain did. Before he could stop himself, the angel felt the words tumbling out of himself, tripping over his lips in an over-eager rush to their revelation. "…now,_ I_ will care for you and your brother."

That seemed to surprise Dean as much as it did his newfound caretaker himself. "Wh—you? Why? Why would you even _care_?"

_You don't think you deserve to be saved._

Oh.

…had it really started so early…?

At a loss for how to answer, Castiel swallowed, cleared his throat, and resorted to answering, "…someday, Dean, when you are far older, ask me that question again—then, and only then, will I give you the honest answer. Is that…is that suitable?"

Unbelievably enough—despite the loss of both his parents in two weeks—despite the responsibility of being an older brother and meeting a strange man who had just as suddenly become his knew adult-figure—the corner of Dean's mouth quirked just the slightest, as if it itched instead of burned to become amusement. "…you talk funny, y'know that?"

Relieved, Castiel nodded. "You've…told me something like that before, yes."

But at Dean's sudden confusion, and curious, "I have?" he quickly decided to change the subject—and just in time, too. "So—dinner—you both haven't eaten yet, have you?" Eating—yes. Such a human thing, but he can remember hunger sharply—if only from their bout with Famine and Jimmy Novak's own cravings for hamburgers—and he didn't want the Winchester boys to know hunger _that _bad.

Dean shook his head, and Castiel, relieved that he caught it early, uttered to him, "Then I shall see about finding you something to—"

"—I'm not hungry."

Why no—oh.

The angel nodded again, once again changing his mind. "Then I…then I guess will just sit with you, then."

Dean didn't look at him as he did so, moving over to sit on the bed beside the small boy. But Castiel didn't mind. He wasn't sure if sitting closer or farther would help or not, but he decided he was close enough that if Dean wanted him closer, he could say so, or if he wanted him gone, he could also say so.

Several hours passed between them, and Dean ended up not saying anything at all.

In fact, he ended up with his head leaning on Castiel's side, a dark spot of tears staining the angel's trenchcoat, as his caretaker awkwardly laid a hand on the now-sleeping boy's shoulder, in what he hoped was a comforting touch.

* * *

If Castiel was the same angel he had been two years ago, he might have told Dean and Sam what he was right away—an angel—in fact, a god, now—all-powerful and strong enough to provide for their every need. But the Castiel of now could see there was no wisdom in such an action. In fact…something told him it would very much be better to pretend to be human as much as possible. So he tried, and he had thought it was a good plan.

Then it came time to check out of the motel room, and leaving the motel room meant driving to another place for a while.

And driving…

…well, Castiel wasn't familiar with driving.

For a long time, the angel stood there, scrutinizing the Impala with everything he had. It was a…curious human contraption, he supposed—the car was. He hadn't ever thought about it too much before, having never needed to ride in one very often. But when he looked and thought about it as he was now, he was rather…impressed.

God made man in His likeness—and Castiel had always wondered entirely what that meant, because humans didn't necessarily physically _look _like his Father—not having actually _seen _the guy didn't mean that he wasn't aware that God lived on an entirely different dimensional plane that couldn't be defined by the same physical properties man was—but upon remembering that phrase, and staring at the Impala before him, he was struck by what it really did mean, how similar man _was _to God in the sense that both had the ability to _create _and _build._

Castiel couldn't remember ever trying to…_make _something. It just wasn't something angels did.

And the fact that man did—even just an automobile, in order to transport themselves faster than their God-given feet could—that was…impressive.

But he was snapped out of his thought process by Dean, behind him, still cradling a blankly-staring Sam in his arms as he uttered tiredly, "…we gonna go yet?"

"Um." Castiel cleared his throat, eyes squinting to shield from the sun as he turned back to him. "Yes. Momentarily."

Dean gave him a very strange look. "…okay…"

But after another half-hour of Castiel simply staring at the Impala in a silent beg for the answers to its secrets, the boy finally caught on. With exasperation, he rolled his eyes. "You _do _know how to drive a car, right?"

Castiel…didn't see any point in lying. Tilting his head at the machinery, he uttered truthfully, "It seems to have…escaped my memory."

Dean sighed, turning away. "Okay. Then we'll…take a bus?"

Take a bus?

And leave the Impala behind?

"No. We'll take the car."

The absolute certainty in Castiel's voice seemed to baffle Dean, who gaped at his back with confusion and a glare. "But, dude, you don't even know how to drive—"

"—_I will learn."_

Dean gave another very, very baffled look at the angel's back. "…okay…if you say so…"

And Castiel did.

It just might…it might take him a try or two to get it to actually work.

* * *

Sam cried a lot.

Castiel still nearly swerved into another lane or off-road each time the babe would start up, something in him suddenly worried and protective and Sam was crying and that must mean a bad dream—and bad dreams were something he could fix, oh yes, he could because he would just have to—

—but then Dean would yell, "Cas! The _road_!" and he would remember that they didn't have time for a bit of dreamwalking.

The Winchesters needed him to drive more than they needed him to use his any of his angelic abilities at the moment, as frustrating as that was.

So…drive he would.

And listen, waiting painfully for Dean to ease his brother's pains the slow way—the human way.

* * *

John Winchester was not the richest of men, being an auto-mechanic. Castiel was discovering this the hard way as they were trying to purchase food from one of Dean's favorite hamburger "joints."

The short, rounded lady behind the counter was—admittedly—trying to be as nice and patient as possible, but even her blue eyes kept dancing back behind him and to the growing line as he kept recounting the dollars. To the angel-god's growing frustration, he continued to discover that they were just two short of being able to pay for their meal. (Or rather, Dean's meal. He hadn't the need to eat, and Sam's teeth weren't developed yet to chew ordinary human food. He was fortunate John already had some baby food in a large black bag, so he was technically taken care of for a while.)

Dean, holding his brother again, seemed just as exasperated as everyone else. "Pay with the _card_, Cas."

The card?

Castiel's eyes turned to the several plastic rectangles tucked away in the sleeves of John's wallet. Oh. But what would that do? Did it represent money? Humans had such weird forms of exchange. "Which one do I—"

"—I don't know, jus' pick one!"

Selecting a random card from the lot, Castiel put it into the awaiting hand of the blue-eyed girl, nodding his head briefly to her when she smiled back. Dumbly, he stood there, waiting as she swiped it, tore away a printing, whining slip of white paper—the receipt, he remembered it was called—and handed it back to him. Then, following Dean's lead, he shuffled over, looking at the receipt briefly, before throwing it away and tucking the card back in the wallet.

It was Dean who broke the awkward silence that then settled between them as they waited for his meal.

"…y'know, for an adult, you really don't know a lot."

Pure wisdom bid Castiel to not to answer that.

* * *

Feeding Sam was a rare thing for Castiel.

The first couple times the youngest Winchester needed to eat, Dean had, of course, possessively taken over the duty. Of course, this was also partly because anytime Castiel came near the six-month-old, Dean would glare at him loudly in warning. So the angel rarely had the opportunity to touch the babe—and the only time he did was when it came time for Sam's diapers to be changed, because Dean refused to do it ever since they first attempted, together, to do so (they each swore, with terrified wide-eyed glances, to never speak of _that_ particular instance again; from then on, Castiel always silently assumed the duty of diaper-changer; he was getting better and better at it as the days went by).

But that afternoon, sitting in that burger place across from Dean as he stuffed his face, Castiel got one of his rare instances to hold Sam.

It was both a terrifying and humbling experience.

Here this babe was—demon-blood coursing through his veins—the future, supposed vessel of Lucifer and yet at the same time, one of the only hopes for all of Creation—and all he was right now, several years before it all would even begin, was a tiny, fragile newborn. And oh, he would grow so _tall—_so broad-shouldered and strong—Castiel had not forgotten his brilliance, either. He would be a _genius._ And it was so hard to believe, right then, right there, staring at the tiny, grasping fingers and small pink mouth, with its wet tongue that slid out in a midst of impish saliva-bubbles—that _this—_this, too, was Samuel Winchester. A defenseless Sam, a so easily destroyed Sam. Not the Sam he knew—but the Sam who he would know.

And yet Castiel, in his presence, holding the child who gazed at him back with equally wide eyes, blinking owlishly and slowly, could do nothing but stare in awe.

"…Sam's probably hungry, y'know."

Castiel blinked up, meeting Dean's gaze as he munched on a French fry. "…yes. I suppose he is…" But slowly, a frown spread over his face. "But if that's the case, why isn't he crying…?"

Dean's eyes passed to his little brother, wrapped in blankets and tucked away in this not-anymore-stranger's arms, cradled like he was precious glass. "…it's cuz you're holding him, I think. He doesn't cry whenever you're looking at him."

He didn't? Castiel's frown deepened, even as he reached with one hand into the large black shoulder-bag they carried around that housed Sam's baby-needs. His roaming fingers eventually found the cool glass of baby food—mashed carrots, maybe—or peas—and pulled it out as Dean continued, as if reading his slightly-baffled expression as a verbal answer. "Yeah. It's weird. It's like he…knows you're safe or something. Like it's okay now that you're watching…or whatever. It's weird."

Ah.

Castiel returned his gaze to Sam's staring one, something he had forgotten that was pinched in his chest finally smoothing itself out.

But then Dean made a sharp strangled noise, and alarmed, Castiel looked up—only to see the boy's nose scrunched up in severe distaste.

Immediately, he began to fear the worst. "What? What is it?" The angel quickly looked around, surveying the fast food restaurant for possible dangers—for demons, ghosts, ghouls, the likes—but he could find no threat nearby that was detectable, so what was—

"You. Were you—did you just _smile_?"

Did he?

Castiel blinked blankly back at the eldest Winchester, who looked just as confused and weirded-out as his caretaker felt.

Finally, Dean shook his head, as if snapping back to himself. "You're _weird._"

For smiling?

Castiel had thought that was a human thing—nothing to be alarmed at, nothing that was out of the ordinary—but he supposed, after living with the Winchesters for nearly a week so far, perhaps while getting to know them, they've also been getting to know _him. _

So did Dean suspect yet that he wasn't human? Did he fear him?

Worse yet: was _he _afraid of himself _for _them?

It was a strange thing to think, but cradling the six-month-old version of Sam in his arms, and staring at the four-year-old Dean—who was just as fragile and defenseless as Sam—it crossed his mind with surprising, blaring clarity and conviction_. _It wasn't the first time that Castiel was sharply aware of what he could do with all these souls of Purgatory. He knew from the very start how easily he could end both of their lives. He could hold Sam too tightly or burst Dean apart. He could crush their skulls, or he could pull out their hearts.

His power was near limitless as it was now—he knew that.

Just…never before had that _scared_ him.

"You okay?"

Solemnly, gently, Castiel fed Sam another spoonful.

"…I…don't know…"

* * *

_You know when you stare your death in the face and yet somehow manage to walk away, some part of you feels as if you've learned all that life can give you._

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **I'M ALIVE, GAIS. ;A; ALIVE.

AND I'M WRITING AGAIN.

Like...I'm very sorry for the long hiatus in crunching out anything, but lately I've been in a...writing sloop? Slunch? Bust? Block? Whatever word you prefer. ;A; So I know that doesn't, like...mean anything to people who don't know me or whatnot, or even goes remotely close to appeasing those who are waiting for me to update other works...but so you know, either way. ;A; I've been struggling.

Still...I've been able to put this out. I have an idea what I want to bring out, and it might be a slow build, and I do hope it doesn't drag, but it's fun to write all the same-and since it's fun to write, I thought I might as well go ahead and write it and put it out and then continue my hand at writing it, since it's getting me back in the game.

For those who are visiting this one from other works, thanks for your loyalty. ;A; And for those who haven't met me before, welcome. 8D Thanks for taking the time to read the beginning of this adventure, wherever and whenever it will take us from this point onward. I do very much so hope you enjoy the ensuing ride as much as I, most definitely, will.

So please. Put your seatbelts on, and make sure that all hands and feet are inside the vehicle at all times.

Thank you. And enjoy. :)


End file.
